


our love was born outside the walls

by jolie_unfiltrd



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Past Rape/Non-con, also Sansa is a secret BAMF, but here we go, not sure where this came from, theon is still tortured but a bit less so, yara asha tomato tomatoe i just like how gemma plays her so yara it is here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-17 10:29:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12363738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jolie_unfiltrd/pseuds/jolie_unfiltrd
Summary: He speaks to her of ships and sails, waves crashing and bravery failing.She tells him of icy woods, and the baying of hungry hounds.Or, Yara frees Theon from Ramsay's clutches. The Ironborn show up at Winterfell before the War of the Dead, ready to fight for what they love and who they love.Set sometime after Season 7. Playing fast & loose with canon because I can... on. :)





	our love was born outside the walls

**Author's Note:**

> SETTING THE STAGE: Yara managed to rescue Theon from Ramsay much earlier. Sansa had to wait for an opportunity to escape, where she fortuitously ran into Brienne/Podrick who took her to Jon, and everything else pretty much follows show-canon. Except we are assuming Theon's mission to rescue Yara was incredibly successful. Euron still lives, but his forces and ships are much reduced. Jon and Daenerys are on their way to Winterfell, but Jon is preparing to ride in first, to prepare his people. 
> 
> \---
> 
> Title from Epithalamium, by Pablo Neruda.  
> "Do you remember when  
> in winter  
> we reached the island?  
> The sea raised toward us  
> a crown of cold."

———

First, he came for Yara. 

Then, he came for her. 

———

Sansa stood in the courtyard, hands clasped in her skirts, trying not to berate herself for forgetting her gloves inside. She may be a wolf, but even wolves have their pack to keep them warm, and a heavy pelt for when they are apart. She did her best not to shiver as the host of men and women in front of her began to dismount from their horses. The kraken emblem was clear enough, and she had sent scouts ahead to ensure this was not Euron’s party, but she remained wary. Arya was fidgeting with the dagger at her waist, and Brienne’s hand never moved from the pommel of her sword. 

The woman who strode up to her reminded her of Brienne, actually, - all brawn and strength - but where Brienne was careful training and footwork practice, this one was swagger and a dagger in the back and a ship in the night. Oddly, Sansa trusted her immediately. 

“Yara Greyjoy,” she drawled, by way of introduction. She held out a leather-bound arm, and Sansa clasped it, elbow to elbow, smiling softly at her father’s youngest ward’s oldest sister. Only sister, if she remembered correctly. A powerful woman in her own right, she had heard much about this new queen of Pyke. 

“Sansa Stark.” 

Yara grinned widely. “Aye, I know who you are. This runt wouldn’t stop talking about you and your fiery hair and -“ She was cut off by a man elbowing her roughly in the side before coming face to face with Sansa. 

She barely recognized the confident man in front of her, a teasing grin hanging off the corner of his mouth even as he bowed low to her, saying “Lady Stark” with all the familiarity and warmth that he had used to call her by her given name when they were children. She is surprised by the way his voice sends her straight home, back into the days of old when things were good and sweet and simple. Apple orchards and honey and the crisp summer breeze drifting through the godswood. She is more surprised it didn’t take her back to their shared time together, before, but this was not Reek in front of her, stooped and afraid. This man towering over her, the lankiness of his youth replaced by thick, corded arms and a broader chest, missing a few fingers but with a grin that she would have known blind - this was Theon Greyjoy. 

“Did you miss me?” his eyes danced in mischief, hair tousled just so from the sea salt and the breeze and his eyes were the same icy blue that she remembered and she couldn’t decide whether to embrace him, or strangle him with her bare hands. His eyes began to drift down the length of her body, and her hands tightened into fists at her side.

The ringing slap across his face echoed throughout the courtyard, silencing the men and women on both sides, before a hearty guffaw started from Yara and spread throughout the other Ironborn. Arya couldn’t resist chuckling, and an amused smile quirked at the corner of Brienne’s mouth. Theon, to his credit, did not laugh, but merely looked at Sansa as he cradled his cheek, keeping his eyes glued to her frame as she whirled around and went back into the castle, waiting until she was a safe distance away to call out: “Is that a no, then?” 

The Ironborn laughed uproariously, even more so once Sansa called back crisply over her shoulder. 

“That’s a no, Theon!” 

———

Arya was sitting on a fence post by the practice area in the courtyard when Theon approached her, watching and commenting as Brienne and Podrick trained. Or, more accurately, as Brienne tried to train Podrick. The man, though a fervent and dedicated squire, was absolutely hopeless when it came to defending his right side. 

“Arya,” he said casually, sidling up to her as if they hadn’t been separated for years and years, as if she hadn’t believed him responsible for the destruction of her home, as if he hadn’t been tortured here. Sansa and Jon had gotten Rickon back alive, somehow, and that served to lessen her anger, and it took only a sidelong glance at the altered gloves he wore to see that he had paid the price for his transgressions, likely over and over again. 

So, she responded in kind. “Theon.” 

“She won’t talk to me.” In fact, she had gone to great lengths to avoid him completely. He had memorized the twirl of her skirts as she turned away from him. Arya snorted and rolled her eyes. “Of course she won’t, you dummy.” 

He looked affronted by the mere thought that he could be a dummy. They had had lessons together in geography and history and politics, she knew he was smarter than he let on. In everything except Sansa Stark, apparently. “Well, why not?”

She sighed and turned to face him, able to look him in the eyes from her perch on the fence post. “She thought you were dead. Ramsay told her he fed you to his hounds, piece by piece.” 

Only with a concentrated effort was Theon able to not recoil at the sound of his name, but he stepped back in horror of what she must have thought. But, a small voice whispered inside his head, at least then he hadn’t abandoned her on purpose. At least then she thought it had been against his will that he had left her, that he hadn’t gone freely and gladly out the window when Yara came, once she broke it through his skull that he was Theon, not Reek. That he was free. It was no small wonder she couldn’t look him in the eyes now, now that she knew he had left her. 

He exhaled slowly, sighing, confessing lowly, “Some days I’d wished he would.” 

She paused to look at him intently, head cocked to the side and eyes considerate as a raven. He waited patiently. “Some days, I think Sansa still wishes he had done the same to her.” She offered him a rough punch to the shoulder shoulder, muttering, “Sometimes it takes more bravery just to keep going, to keep dealing with the scars and the aftermath, than to give in and give up.” 

Rough waves and flames and Euron’s dagger and shame shame shame flashed into his mind. 

She waited until he nodded, then got up and tossed him a practice sword. “Have you been training much? I bet I can whoop you now.” Her grin was fierce and full of teeth and he repressed the shudder threatening to run down his spine, the laughter on the tip of his tongue dying as he suddenly fought very hard just to keep on his feet. 

“By the gods, who trained you?” he said, at the end, sweat pouring down his brow, incredulous and out of breath, slumped onto his side and hand cradling the cut on his shoulder. Even a blunt blade will cut at a fast enough speed, although he had never seen it happen before. 

The look on her face was amused, predatory, a direwolf that has only begun to play with its food. “No one.” 

———

Looking out over the snowdrifts surrounding Winterfell, Sansa allowed her eyes to close and her mask to slip and her mind to drift. The wind was wilder up here, and she felt wilder too, freer. As if she could transform into a raven, bound off the walls and fly away at a moment’s notice. Strands of hair fell loose from her braid and she tilted her head back, letting the light fall of snow dust her nose, her eyelashes, her lips. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t come back for you then,” his voice sounded from behind her, muted in the wind but regret louder than as if he were shouting in her ear. Theon walked up to stand beside her, resting on his elbows as he looked out over the landscape, over the place he had called home and prison, both, trying to explain. 

“I wanted to come back, argued with Yara the second we left that we needed to go back for you, but we didn’t have the men and we would have all died. They were lucky to get me out, as it was.”

He waited for her to speak with bated breath, but the minutes passed slowly. He dared a glance at her face, expecting the cool ice princess from their youth, and was shocked to see tears streaming down her cheeks, lips clenched together tightly in an effort not to make a sound. Theon turned towards her, her name falling from his lips like a prayer as he moved, without thinking, to wrap her in his arms. 

“Don’t touch me,” she spoke, quietly and with a hitch in her voice. “Don’t you dare fucking touch me, Theon.” He froze, and his arms lowered to his sides, palms open in supplication. 

“You knew what he was like, you knew what he was doing to me, and you left me there.” She spat the words out, tears streaming down her face, making no effort to stop them falling onto the furs at her collar. 

“I know,” he murmured, “I know.” 

“Do you know? Do you really know, Reek?” she spat out his former title and advanced towards him. He winced and swallowed hard, fighting hard to stay in the present, to stay Theon, to remember who he is, to not back down from her righteous fury. It was well-deserved, so he faced it head-on. “In the months after you escaped, do you want to know what really happened? Do you want to hear about the nights he raped me, the nights he made me scream with a blade to my back? Do you know that the night he told me you died, he -“ she broke off, sobbing too hard to speak clearly. She cradled her face into her hands. 

It was as if she had stabbed him in the heart; she was right, he should not have left her to that beast of a man, to be tortured in her home, over and over again. The guilt had merely simmered under the surface since he left her, but now it coursed through him. Theon very carefully did not move, trying not to startle her, but just left his arms wide open as he spoke, softly. 

“I don’t know, but I will listen if you want to tell me. Sansa-” his voice cracked, and she glanced up in surprise to see tears welling in his eyes, “I am so, so sorry. I know it will never be enough but I am so sorry that I couldn’t rescue you sooner, that I wasn’t the one to rescue you. I came as quickly as I could, I promise you.” 

Months too late, but he had come back. He had come back for her, an army in tow.

She took a step forward, then two more, almost tripping in her haste to throw her arms around him and sink into his embrace. Theon meant to gently wrap his arms around her, he did, but when Sansa threw herself into his arms, his body seemed to move of its own volition, wrapping one arm around her waist and the other around her head, stroking her hair and nuzzling into her like a damned Stark direwolf. He may be a kraken once more, but once he would have given anything to be a wolf. He let her seek comfort in his arms, a privilege he thought he’d never have again. He murmured his apologies over and over again, until her tears dried up and her sobs quieted and her hiccups faded. 

The two stood in silence until the snow stopped falling, heartbeats echoing familiar cadences. 

“Can you ever forgive me?” he let the question slip from his tongue before she stepped away, afraid of the look in her eyes, afraid of the sinking feeling in his chest. 

Sansa took a deep, shuddering breath before pulling back to look up at him, a grim smile across her lips, a determined set to her jaw. “There’s nothing to forgive, Theon.” 

He started to protest but she held a hand up to his cheek. “You left me to Ramsay, but what he did is not your fault. I understand why you left with Yara.” A rather undignified sniffle escaped her as she glanced off into the distance, towards the Wall. “I would have done the same thing.” 

She pulled back from him and a chill spread through his bones. He was used to the chill of the breeze on the water, the whipping winds through the towers of Pyke, but nothing compared to the cold of the North, or the warmth of the woman in front of him. 

“Can… can I ask you something else?” 

Blue eyes looked up towards him, piercing and red-rimmed and gods she was even more gorgeous than he remembered, this woman made of steel covered in velvet. 

“How did he die?” Theon had heard Jon and Sansa had taken back Winterfell in the infamous Battle of the Bastards, but the details had been muddled, ravens unreliable, paper soaked and ruined from the endless rain. 

She slowly smiled, all predator, and suddenly Theon could see how the two sisters were related. “Oh, I fed him to his hounds.” He stared at her in shock for a moment, then laughed, and his laughter echoed over the walls and into the courtyard. 

“Gods, woman. Keep talking like that and I’ll make a spear wife out of you.” His roguish drawl was back, and he wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms and spin her around and around, but saw she needed distance. Space. He understood that, more than anyone else. 

“Oh, Theon, I’d like to see you try.” Her eyes gleamed with mischief, and a curious smile played over her lips. “Arya has been training me, and if I must say, I’ve gotten quite good.” She showed him the inside of her wrist, where a blade was held. The lining of her dress pocket held another, and in a move that would have scandalized her lady mother, she drew her dress up to the shin, exposing her delicate ankles to the cold to demonstrate the delicate blades that rested against her skin. 

The way his eyes widened in alarm and admiration was enough to make her laugh the whole way back to her chambers.

**Author's Note:**

> Next chapter: Jon returns to Winterfell, alone. He is not sure he likes what he finds. Yara thinks all men are stupid, and she counts herself lucky to not want anything to do with them.


End file.
